


Wounded (Secret Angel)

by Maglana



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maglana/pseuds/Maglana
Summary: John has no one else to turn to, so he pays a visit to his daughter.
Relationships: John Wick/Original Female Character(s), John/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72





	Wounded (Secret Angel)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. It's exactly what it says on the tin.

It had been some time now since you last saw John Wick. You had learned things that you never wanted to know about him, things that you just couldn’t forget. There were so many things that had shattered your perfect image of your father; the man who taught you how to ride a bike could kill, and do so very easily without so much as blinking first. You were like your mother in many ways, one of those ways being that despite everything, you loved him anyway. Perhaps, too much. 

“Dad?” Your voice trembled, as you stared at the man standing weakly outside of your door. He didn’t say much, his eyes full of sadness; John didn’t want it to come to this, he didn’t want to drag his angel into his messy life. He looked broken, face and hands coated in dry blood - not all of it his - and he knew he had a few broken ribs, too. He had gone through worse. He stepped forward, and you didn’t think twice about letting your father into your apartment. He didn’t stop, he limped across the room and avoided the fluffy rug your mother had bought for you when you moved in, heading straight toward the bathroom.

“What the hell happened?” You pressed, following hot on his trail once you had locked your door, and his jacket was hung up next to your bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door. He was fumbling with the buttons, but still getting them undone as fast as he could. His head hung low, like he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“I can’t tell you, angel.” He spoke, his voice sounding rougher than you had ever heard it. He was missing a finger, you noticed that once you grabbed his hand. It was an old wound, but one that shocked you to your core. His ring was gone, too. You had your mother’s ring in your bedroom drawer, he had told you to hold onto it for when you got married, but sometimes you wondered if he would even be around for such an event. 

“Christ,” You muttered, his torso was bruised. You noticed a scrape on his ribs, already scabbing over, and you wondered if your mother ever had to put up with this. The vicious bruises forming made you wish that he was able to go to a hospital, rather than hide. You certainly hoped that your mother didn’t have to see this, but something told you otherwise.. “Let me help you.” You insisted, but John shook his head; he seemed dizzy.

“No,” He started, and you knew what he was going to say. “You shouldn’t have to--”  _ see me like this _ . You knew where he was going with it, and so you cut him off.

“You’re right, but you’re here now. Let me help you, dad.” You were stern, in a way that your mother used to be when you got into trouble as a child, and John seemed amused.

“You’re just like your mother, you know that?” John chuckled, before turning away to cough quite agonisingly. You rubbed his back softly, despite the fact that he towered over you, and hoped that you weren’t irritating yet another hidden injury. “You have the same fire in your eyes,” He added, wiping his mouth; there wasn’t any fresh looking blood on his sleeve. 

“I know, dad.” You smiled at him, tone gentler than before, and you started to push his shirt off of his shoulders. “Sit down before you fall down.” You ordered him, gesturing to the edge of the bathtub. He obeyed with a  _ yes ma’am _ , and you put his shirt in the laundry hamper. You had never been a fan of the all-black look, and it made you glad that you still had some clothes here for him that had been intended as a Christmas present. You had promised your mother that you would take care of him, and not let him walk around in the same clothes all the time. 

“I know you can’t tell me what happened, but your problem… It won’t follow you here, right?” You inquired, knowing that he would never willingly put you in danger, but it was something you needed to hear from him.

“I wouldn’t come here if it would,” He promised you; you were all he really had left now. John wanted to make sure you stayed safe, and he would take as many bullets as needed to ensure this. 

“How long can you stay this time?” You wondered out loud, turning on the warm water faucet and dampening a washcloth. Your father was already washing his hands under the shower head, using body wash and your favourite flannel to scrub away the blood. Ah, shit.

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. “I can stay the night, at the very least.” He added, and that would have to be good enough. With his lifestyle, you were in no way able to make demands from him. All you knew was that this  _ career _ wasn’t something he could just give up, at least not for a second time.

You walked toward him with the towel in hand, as he leaned under the spray of the shower to rinse off his arms. Maybe it would have been easier to let him shower alone, you wondered. You wanted to make sure that no wounds would become infected, and so you stood between his open legs and gently pressed the hot towel against a particularly red mark on his collarbone. You hoped he wouldn’t protest, though quietly he turned back to face you and tried to take the cloth from your hand.

“No, let me,” You insisted, and your father stopped. He wouldn’t force you, and truth be told he liked having you so close. You’re his daughter; the apple of his eye. You hadn’t yet realised that he had smacked his head quite hard during a fall, or just how much you reminded him of your mother in every aspect. 

Your touch was caring; gentle, soft, and it was almost intimate with how much caution you took, cleaning every inch of your father’s chest, and gradually going lower. As the minutes passed, you got to your knees in front of him; you swore that you heard his breath hitch when you briefly rested a hand against his thigh for support. You tried not to let it get to you, as you were just helping him. You carefully cleaned around the nasty scrape on his ribs, and you were going to stand up again until you saw another mark. It was just poking out from behind his belt, and you didn’t think too much when you carefully pulled down the belt to get a better look.

“Y/N,” John’s voice stopped you, along with the firm hand he placed on your shoulder. “I can handle this.” He informed you, not being stern per-say, but he was clear. He wanted you to stop, but you didn’t want to you.

“It’s just a scratch, dad,” You informed him, and unbuckled his belt to get better access; it wasn’t like you were trying to strip him. He didn’t say anything, but his hold on your shoulder loosened and he let you continue. You tugged down his trousers just enough to expose the full injury; it looked like an old wound had opened up just a bit. You also tugged down his boxers slightly, and you felt his pubic hair on the tips of your fingers. 

“Do I even want to know about this one?” You questioned, obviously joking as you briefly looked up at him. There was something in his eyes, something that your father had never looked at you with. You didn’t recognise it, because it was something reserved for your mother. John stared down at you with something almost primal, his gaze full of filthy, carnal craving as you kneel between his legs; it wasn’t for you. It was for your mother, who had spent many evenings between his legs when he had a rough day. This classified as a rough day, and John missed your mother’s sweet relief and the way she could work her tongue.

You bit your lip nervously, and your gaze lowered back down to the scratch. Something was off about John, to say the least. Maybe it was from the adrenaline that your father’s trousers were starting to bulge; you weren’t naive. You knew exactly what was happening, and yet you remained. You tentatively cleaned the wound, keeping your eyes focused on the injury. Subconsciously, your hand tugged his trousers down just an inch or two more, and John noticed.

“You do look so much like your mother, angel.” He commented, his voice so calm but there was something else there, something intensely sinful. Was this real life? You wondered what was going through his head, and you glanced up at your father again, eyes big, and frankly you felt dazed. His hand moved from your shoulder, fondling your cheek while the other reached for the belt you had draped over the edge of the bathtub. 

“Do I act like her, too?” You questioned; your voice barely audible, but John heard you loud and clear. There was something utterly unholy on his face now, and he wasted no time with his response;

“You will,” He stated firmly. “Hands on the tub either side of me, Y/N.” He ordered, and you felt so sordid as you obeyed. John’s strong hands moved behind you; the belt gliding across the back of your neck. He was tantalisingly slow, despite his ravenous gaze fixated on your wide-eyed expression.

The belt ended up pulled behind your neck; the leather pressed tight on your throat. Without any warning, John tugged the belt harshly. You gasped, hands flying to your throat. John seemed satisfied that he was having the intended effect on you, the smile on his face so devious. 

“Hands, Y/N!” He reminded you, and quickly you replaced your hands onto the bathtub. You didn’t want to disobey him, you wanted to help. He moved his hands to his trousers; unfastening them with some ease now that he had some strength back, and didn’t waste time fishing his cock out. You were stunned as he shamelessly jerked himself right in front of you; his semi-hard cock growing in size and twitching after he let it go. 

“You know what to do, don’t you?” He questioned, and you nodded your head. It was obvious that John wants you to suck his cock, and while you are no stranger to this… It was different now. It was debauched, wrong on so many levels - and yet you didn’t move, you obeyed, and you didn’t tell him to stop - if he even would. 

“Yes,” You answered, and resisted the urge to call him  _ dad _ . You leaned forward, resisting the urge to use your hands as your tongue flicked across the tip. You refrained from looking up and eagerly took the tip into your mouth, sucking on his cock like a whore starved. He wasn't one to make too much noise, but you knew from the way his hand clutched your hair that you were doing fine.

John had an impressive cock, one unlike any you had taken before; though the size wasn't anything particularly new. When the head of his cock inched closer to the entrance of your throat, you relaxed, taking him at your own pace. This wasn't enough for him, and you felt his rough hand in your hair before he forced his cock deeper, breaking past your boundaries without a care for what it might do.

You coughed, spluttering on your father's cock, though you forced yourself to adjust - or try to, as John didn't let up. He fucked your throat tirelessly, using you for his own relief. Your hands gripped the edge of the tub hard, your knuckles turning white and your fingers aching; you couldn't stop it.

"Tongue, angel," He growled, the noise sending a shiver down your spine. Tears were threatening to dampen your cheeks from the brutality, though you didn't dare disobey. Your tongue pushed against his shaft as he used your mouth; the tip of your tongue swirling over his tip when he pulled out, his cock resting on your lips. Instinctively, you pushed forward, swallowing his cock shamelessly; you wanted to please him, his almost inaudible groans and grunts were music to your ears.

"Good girl," He muttered, stroking your hair before his hand returned to the leather belt, tugging it back harshly and forcing you to let go of his cock; he was hard, twitching for attention. With one hand he held you by the belt, while the other unbuttoned your shirt; exposing your cleavage held up so graciously by a lace bra. Your father muttered something unintelligible as he wrapped his hand around his shaft, jerking himself right in front of you to the sight of your breasts.

You had been graced with a beautiful figure by your mother, one that John adored. You whimpered as you watched him, his intent was to get off right in front of you. It drove you crazy, and you could feel the dampness of your core dripping into your panties; you were soaked and wanted desperately to get off, you had a feeling John knew that when his foot moved under your skirt; the tip of his shoe pressing against your labia as he jerked off. Your breathless moan was enough for John to reach his release. 

The grunt he made as he pulled your head closer; his cum splashing against your lips. You opened your mouth to catch more with your tongue, though it dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts. 

"Angel…" John whispered, breathless and coming down from his high as the last spurts of cum left his shaft; he let go of his softening cock, and you felt a drop of cum drip onto your knee. You looked up at him, your eyes clouded with lust. Internally, you had hoped that your mother's passing would bring him closer to you, though you had never anticipated this. 

You reached for a towel, using it to clean yourself up after you had swallowed what had made it into your mouth. It was a mess; everything about this was wrong and filthy, though you couldn't currently find it in you to care for the consequences. John took the towel when she was done, and she could see it in his eyes that he felt some guilt. You glanced at the scratch again; John's small cough caught your attention. 

"Y/N, go get changed. I'll finish up," He told you, and you nodded as you removed the belt from around your neck, draping it over the bathtub again. "I'll call you if I need you." He added, and you leaned down carefully; placing a kiss on his forehead before you left the bathroom.

What have you done?

  
  
  
  



End file.
